


Doubt

by TheRottenOne



Category: For Honor (Video Game)
Genre: Battlefield, Conqueror (Character), Contest Entry, Death, Doubt, Peacekeeper (Character), War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 06:45:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15925049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRottenOne/pseuds/TheRottenOne
Summary: “She is a Peacekeeper, but peace had no meaning to her. She knew only war to the point she forgot what the word ‘peace’ meant.”For the first time, Mercy's heart ached.





	Doubt

At the twilight hour, the sun was slowly falling down over the Temple Garden, bathing in its light this sacred place of the Samurai, setting the sky on fire.

The peaceful and preserved gardens were now nothing more than a desolate battleground, disfigured by the throes of war, put to fire and sword. A dense smoke was rising to the dusk sky, incandescent ashes glowing like a thousand stars, as the Blackstone Legion’s cry of victory thundered like a storm amidst what used to be a place of worship and contemplation.

Once again victorious, Apollyon had made her armies hasten, like chasing eagles, to this strategic position of the Samurai.

To teach them respect.

This Holy place was but a field of ruins and rubbles, a nameless mass grave, covered in dust and ashes, disturbed only by this distant clamor, the crackling of the flames, the evening wind's soft breath, and Mercy’s quiet and measured steps as she was silently making her way athwart.

Not a single time has she set her eyes on the corpses laying at her feet as she was pacing by, Samurai and soldiers of the Blackstone Legion stacked in a grotesque scene, like dislocated puppets, their eyes lifeless and pain remaining engraved on their faces.

Wolves, sheep, humans or monsters, fighting for a worthy cause, or hopelessly… At the face of Death, they’re all the same. Their bodies return to the earth and no one will remember them. Scavengers will fulfill their task and rain will wash the blood and the pain away.

None of these thoughts ever troubled Mercy. Nor did she ever feel the thrill of the Victory, that excitement that drive Apollyon’s wolves to be even more bloodthirsty, as if all of these bloody rampages and slaughters weren’t enough to temper their pulsions. 

And even if she wanted… She couldn’t.

Mercy’s heart -if she ever had one- was lifeless, cold and as hard as stone. Not a single heartbeat was wasted on emotions. Perhaps, it was enough for her, at least, to experience the satisfaction of doing her job well.

Killing… swiftly and neatly. She was good at this, she was made for this. Apollyon had been free to shape her a heartless, deadly weapon. Indoctrinating her, pressuring her into burying deep down any trace, any hint of the emotions that could affect her.

Henceforth, she wasn’t able to experience anything anymore… To the point that she forgot what it was to feel alive in such a world of chaos and despair.

The Peacekeeper finally reached the small island where all the Monastery paths met, the calm water surrounding it having turned red with blood.  
As she silently crossed the wooden bridge, a weak, painful gasp caught her attention. 

A dying Kensei was laying there, coughing, panting pitifully, blood black and thick bubbling and drooling from the grimacing carved mouth of his mask. By the bloody tracks and stains on the floor, Mercy could tell that he dragged himself here before collapsing at the feet of the giant tree standing proudly at the center of the island.

…. Why?

Mercy looked down on the fallen Samurai. One of his hands was clutching around the broken spear still stranded in his abdomen, piercing through his noble armor; the other, shaking, raising to the Peacekeeper as she approached. She could smell it, through the intoxicating scent of blood, sweat and smoke. Fear.

The Samurai knew he was lost. His Nodashi was too far away from his reach. Yet, he wanted to die on his feet, his weapon in hand, with pride. Like Samurai do.

Slowly, Mercy kneeled next to him slowly unsheathing her Misericorde and before the Kensei could even try to catch her hand, in a ultimate and desperate motion to survive, her dagger was on his throat. Her hand pulled his head back by firmly gripping his Kabuto, as he was gurgling in agony, and his grip on the broken spear finally loosened.

The Peacekeeper eased her hold on the dead Kensei’s helmet, cautiously laying down the back of his head on the floor. She stared at him for a moment, keeping still.

Lost in her contemplation, she didn’t hear the sound of steps approaching.

“Making sure the work was carried properly?”

Struck, Mercy jumped back on her feet, ready to stab, clenching her teeth under her mask.

“Tu Moritu…!” 

A firm and strong hand caught her arm, nearly twisting it, stopping her before she could hit.

The Peacekeeper gasped, her eyes widening slightly, as she recognized the Conqueror facing her by the skull adorning his helmet.

“Stone!?” she snorted, hissing in pain as he finally loosened the grip on her wrist.

“Missed me?” he smirked behind his helm before letting her go.

“Sane coleus es…” she muttered out, her arm still sore from the strength of his grasp “Don’t you ever take me by surprise like so ever again… It could have been fatal if we were foes.”

“ And I would have broken your wrist as if it was nothing if we were foes, Mercy.” he replied snidely, before trailing his eyes to the Kensei dead body laying at the Peacekeeper’s feet.

He sighed as he noticed the broken spear still stuck in the corpse. “Why does Apollyon enroll Valkyries if they aren’t even able to do their work properly…?” he rolled his eyes behind his rusty helm. “Vikings…. Yet, you gave this poor devil the death he deserved. Fast and neat. Good job Mercy, always so dedicated.”

Mercy didn’t retort. It was her duty to finish enemies properly, may they still be on their feet… or not. And the death she gave to this Kensei was probably not the death a Samurai deserved. They face death standing on their feet, weapon in hand.  
Yet, does their Honor Code still have a meaning in these troubled times? It was none of her concerns.

“My work here is done.” she finally breathed out. “I should leave.”

“Heading back to the Monastery Gate, eh? I’m coming with you. Our army will depart soon enough.”

As they crossed the Garden’s watercourse, the evening wind got stronger, blowing through the gigantic cherry tree spreading upon them, swinging the paper lanterns and ringing the praying bells hanging from its branches. Stone raised his head to the tree, catching Mercy’s arm as she was walking her way out.

She stopped in her track. It was the second time that he was making contact with her this way and she disliked it. Very much.

With his other hand, Stone pointed at the gigantic cherry tree over their head.

“Look.” 

She raised her head, Stone’s hand still on her arm, her eyes gazing at the top of the tree.

The cherry blossoms were falling, as if an aura of purity shined through the dust and ashes of the devastated garden. A soft rain of petals felt down over the rubbles and corpses lying on the ground touching down softly on the water stained with blood and hiding, for a brief moment, the devastation of war.

Mercy gazed at the breathtaking sight, still and quiet.

“I heard that the Samurai call them ‘sakura flowers’. They don’t last long, yet… they mean a lot to them.” Stone said, quietly, breaking the silence. “When they don’t write poems about war and honor, they write about sakura blossoms. As they used to do, in time of peace…”

Mercy opened her hand, a dusty pink petal softly touching down in the palm of her gloved hand, drenched with blood and sweat.

“Peace…” she murmured, looking down on the fragile petal through her rusted helmet.

A beautiful -ephemeral- present from nature that would fade soon enough.  
A present from Life. Life trying to slowly rebuild itself after the Great Cataclysm that happened a millennium ago. Trembling, uncertain, like all the factions Mercy knew did. For honor, for pride, to reawaken their past glory, despite all the conflicts and internal clashes.

But Apollyon wanted a world of war -an Age of wolves. Grey with dust, crumbling, crashing down with its ravaged battlefields, where the water turns to blood, blazes setting the sky on fire.

And suddenly Mercy felt herself stumbling.

What was the purpose of… all this..?

To establish this New Order of predators and preys? To keep chasing, fighting and killing in an endless and aimless war? For glory? For the thrill of fight? To fulfill this raging lust for blood?  
But when nothing will be left but ruins and corpses, how will the story of these warriors, who fought until the end of everything, be told?

Who will tell her story? 

What legacy Mercy will leave behind her? Who will ever remember her name…?

Doubt is death, death is doubt.

She is a Peacekeeper, but peace had no meaning to her. She knew only war to the point she forgot what the word ‘peace’ meant. She buried her birth-name and adopted the one Apollyon chose for her -as a sick-joke- and became a faceless assassin. She was taught that war was her only purpose in life. Without war, she was useless.  
If war would ever end… Mercy would disappear with it. 

And if she would fall… No one would ever light a candle in her memory.  
Nobody would cry for her, nobody would be sad. If only this meant anything to her. She had no emotion. Joy, sadness, suffering… She forgot how to feel.  
To feel alive.

Lost in her thoughts, silent, gazing at the petal in her palm, she didn’t notice how Stone’s grip on her arm had softened nor how concerned his voice sounded when he tried to catch her attention.

“Mercy… Are you al…”

The squall of the war horns -calling for departure- cut him off, as Mercy suddenly lifted her head. And as she had been struck by lightning, her hand clenched around the petal, crushing it firmly.

“Mercy…” 

“We are leaving.”

She snapped, cold as ice, before he could add anything, tearing off her arm from the Conqueror’s gentle grip on it. As she withdrew, her hand still firmly tightened around the petal.

And for the very first time in ages, she felt her heart of stone starting to crumble.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for a non-official For Honor Fanfic Contest, this short one-shot os my very first try at actually... Writing something? 
> 
> Since English isn't my first language, this had been quite a challenge for me too.
> 
> I can't thank enough a lovely online friend of mine (EliseDorian on AO3) who helped me quite a lot by reviewing my work. I can't thank her enough for her patience and care.
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed your reading and maybe in the future, I'll add some more FH stuff here!  
> (Also, I'm so bad at choosing titles and tags... Don't blame me!)


End file.
